


Our Corner of the Universe

by DiamondDustOhSnap



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Drama, Drinking, F/M, Flirting, HighSpecs, HighSpecs Week, Ignea, Ignis is little spoon and Aranea is big spoon, Just Kiss Already!, Nurse Aranea, Romance, Sick Ignis, Sickfic, Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-01-04 07:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12164622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondDustOhSnap/pseuds/DiamondDustOhSnap
Summary: A collection of one shots for HighSpecs, celebrating all that Ignis x Aranea goodness.





	1. A Truth and a Lie

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I would put all of the shorter content I create for HighSpecs in one place. Hope you enjoy!

**Prompt: Drinking Together**

**A Truth and a Lie**

 

Aranea Highwind swept through the bar in Lestallum like a woman on a mission. She had a terrible week in field, slaughtering countless daemons that had sprung up around a small settlement in the Duscae region. The people there refused to move, insisting instead on standing their ground. Cor had asked that Aranea and her team at least help them with a bit of daemon clean-up until they got their wits about them. 

Well, Aranea hated that sort of stubbornness and she needed a drink. The lineup at the bar was too long, but she eyed a better alternative in the corner booth anyway. 

She strode over to Ignis, Prompto, and Gladio, and picked up their half-full pitcher of beer without a word, chugging most of it. 

“Sorry boys, it’s been a week,” she said. 

“Is that the one and only Aranea Highwind, come to pilfer our hard-earned beverage?” Ignis said, giving a smile in her direction. 

Her stomach immediately did a little flip, but she ignored it. 

“I promise you that you did not earn this more than me after the week I’ve had.”

“Wanna sit?” Prompto said, gesturing to the empty spot next to Ignis. 

“Sure, thanks. Oh, and next round’s on me.”

Ignis shifted over on the bench and Aranea sat down. She was glad that she had the foresight to have the fastest shower in the world before coming down here. A week of dried daemon blood sure stank. 

“Cor’s got you working overtime, eh?” Gladio said. 

“Yeah, he’s really putting me through the wringer. Not sure I appreciate it right now.”

“Take it as a compliment,” Ignis said. “The Marshall knows your skills.” 

“I’m also very good at drinking, but you don’t see me doing that full-time.”

Ignis took his glass and offered it to Aranea. 

“You can while you’re here with us.” 

Aranea took the glass and drained it. 

“Thanks. I swear, I’m getting you guys a round. Be right back.”

She got back up out of her seat, always fast and efficient with her movements. Or, Ignis wondered at the back of his mind, perhaps she didn’t like sitting next to him. 

“She’s looking good,” Gladio said. 

“Yeah, she’s a real hottie,” Prompto added. 

“I shall take your word for it,” Ignis said, feeling around for the pitcher to refill his glass, whatever was left. Gladio pushed the pitched toward his hand. 

“You’ve seen her Iggy,” Gladio said. “She’s still the same, just… freshly showered.”

“She smells great, doesn’t she? Like sylleblossoms after the rain,” Prompto said. 

Gladio gave him a look and Ignis smirked. Of course Prompto was more interested in Aranea’s bathing products than anything else. 

“Well, lucky me then,” Ignis said. “My sense of smell has certainly heightened.” 

Aranea came back holding a large, unmarked bottle and four shot glasses. 

“Okay boys, we’re having some fun tonight. I’ve got the cheapest home-brewed liquor from the bar and the biggest hangover you’ve ever had right here in my capable hands.” 

“How kind,” Gladio smirked. 

“Oh, but the fun doesn’t stop there,” Aranea continued, as she took her seat next to Ignis again. Her stomach did that little flip once more, but she ignored it. “We’re going to play a little game. We’ll go around the circle and take a shot. With every drink, you have to say one truth and one lie, and the rest of us have to guess which is which.”

“I feel like I already know everything I need to about these two,” Gladio said. 

“But Aranea doesn’t know everything about us,” Prompto countered. 

“Exactly. And I want to get to know my new friends a little better,” Aranea said as she divvied out the first round. Ignis caught a strong whiff of Aranea’s scent as she poured. Damn Prompto, but he was right; she really did smell like sylleblossoms after the rain. 

“Okay, who wants to go first?” Aranea asked. No one responded. 

“I shall,” Ignis offered eventually. He took a shot and grimace at the taste; it was truly something offensive. “My two things: I know how to play the piano, and I do 100 pushups a day.”

“Oh, come on,” Aranea laughed. “Give me something juicier!”

“Alright,” he said after a pause. “I write depressing songs on the piano, and I can do 100 pushups a day—naked.”

Aranea raised her brows and, truthfully, quite liked the thought of the latter. 

“I already know the answer,” Gladio said. He looked at Aranea. “Care to hazard a guess?”

“Hmm... “ Aranea eyed Ignis up and down. “As much as I’d like to picture you doing naked pushups, that’s the lie.”

“What makes you think so?” Ignis asked. 

“Your arms are toned, but not enough for 100 pushups a day. Plus, why in the world would you do it naked? There’s no logical reason for it. Now a secret troubadour, I can see that. You have to channel your feelings somewhere, since you’re so repressed all the time.” 

Ignis scoffed, but then a corner of his mouth raised to a small smile. “You are correct.”

“What can I say, I’m good at reading even the most closed books,” Aranea said as she looked at Ignis, and she swore it felt like he was making eye contact with her. She quickly deflected. “Blondie, you’re next.”

“Okay, okay.” Prompto took a shot. “Something juicy… Well, I’ve been to a brothel, and I remove all the hair from my body.”

“Ha!” Aranea laughed. “You’ve clearly never been to a brothel, kid.”

“What makes you think that??”

“Oh, I don’t know… something about that hairless chest of yours, I guess.”

Prompto made a face at Aranea, and gestured to Gladio. “Your turn, big guy.” 

Gladio took a shot. “I’ve had a threesome, and I’ve had a foursome.”

“So unfair,” Prompto moaned under his breath. 

“I must admit, even I don’t know the answer to that,” Ignis said. 

Aranea squinted her eyes at Gladio. “Hmm… The foursome is the lie.”

“What makes you think that?” Gladio asked. 

“You want to have a foursome, but it’s still on your bucket list. You’ve only joined the three-way club. Devil’s three-way, maybe?”

“A gentleman never tells.” 

“Devil’s it is.”

“What’s that?” Prompto asked. 

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Aranea quipped. 

“Your turn, Ms. Highwind,” Ignis said. 

“Okay then.” Aranea took her shot. “I’m an orphan, and I’ve never been in love.”

“Whoa, this got deep real fast,” said Prompto. 

“That’s the point. It’s a game to get to know each other,” Aranea winked at him. 

“You’re not an orphan,” Ignis said casually. 

“Why do you think that?” Aranea countered. 

“Estranged, perhaps. But you still have people out there, don’t you? Or, at least you hope you do. It’s why you accept Cor sending you all over Eos—the hope that you might find someone you’ve lost touch with a long time ago.” 

“You’re good, Specs. Real good.” 

“So I am correct?” 

“No. But you almost had me believing you.” Aranea laughed and took an extra shot. “I am an orphan. And I have been in love, once, believe it or not. A long time ago. It’s mostly forgotten now, except for a little bit of warning not to pull that shit again.”

“You don’t wish to fall in love again?” Ignis asked. 

“Not if I can help it.”

“What happens when you can’t?”

“Can’t what?”

“Help it?”

Ignis kept his line of sight in Aranea’s direction, knowing just how much this seemed to unsettle her based on the subtle movements he’d been picking up on. The moment stirred with an invisible electricity. 

“Well,” Gladio said, clearing his throat. “Prompto and I are going to play some darts.” 

“We are?” Prompto said. 

“Yeah, we are. Sorry Iggy, I know you can’t join just yet.” Gladio turned to Aranea. “Throwing darts in the dark is still a work in progress after the last incident. Let’s just say Prompto got in Iggy’s way.”

“Wish I’d seen it,” Aranea smiled. 

“Anyway, we’ll be over there if you guys need anything. We’ll leave the cheap liquor to you.”

 

Gladio pulled Prompto up from his seat and the two left, leaving Ignis and Aranea alone for the first time. Aranea poured two shots. 

“So. Should we keep playing?” 

“Ladies first.”

 

—

The cheap liquor bottle was nearly empty. Prompto and Gladio had started an impromptu darts tournament with some other hunters, and Ignis and Aranea remained on the bench in the booth. They sat a little closer, a little more comfortably, though something tentative still hung in the air. 

“I’m running out of answers,” Aranea said. 

“Out of truths, or lies?” Ignis asked. 

He had learned a lot about Aranea Highwind in the last hour. He now knew that she had remained adamantly single for the last eight years after her one and only experience of being in love didn’t end so well. He knew that she sometimes had nightmares at night, not for the things that she’s done, but for the things she hadn’t. He knew that she liked to be on top. 

Aranea, in turn, was learning an awful lot about Ignis Scientia as well, like how he secretly wanted to have a child one day, or that he had gotten off in the tent once when all the guys were sleeping (he left out the part about it being after meeting Aranea for the first time—her aerial moves had apparently left an impression on the young strategist). 

“I’m afraid I don’t have much left in me if I want to be of use tomorrow,” Ignis said, finishing his drink. 

“Okay, last one,” Aranea replied, taking a shot. She studied Ignis’ face, the scars looking ever more attractive as they healed onto his skin, his face still handsome and alarmingly refined after so many drinks. Her own head was swimming, her inhibitions loosened. Why did he have to look so good, dammit. 

“Which one’s a truth and which one’s a lie,” she continued. “I think Gladio is hot.” 

“Okay…” 

“Or, I think _you_ are hot.”

Ignis blinked. Sure, they had been revealing personal details all evening, but this one caught him off guard. Inside, he felt butterflies at the implication. But outwardly, he kept his cool. 

“Interesting options,” he replied coolly. 

“Yeah? So what do you think?” Aranea leaned in a little closer. 

“Well, I believe this is somewhat of a… trick question.” 

Ignis tapped his finger on his lips.

“How so?” 

Aranea licked hers as she watched. 

“I believe that you do find Gladio attractive.” 

“Oh?”

“Well, who wouldn’t enjoy his rugged good looks and impressive physique? But I think that, perhaps, you find me even more attractive.” 

Aranea let out a small laugh. “And what gives you that idea?”

“Well, for starters, you have been slowly moving closer to me all night. Your breathing has quickened as you asked this question, implying that you’re a touch nervous. And...”

Ignis shifted in his seat so he was facing her, breaking the contact of their thighs—Aranea missed the warmth immediately. Ignis then lightly touched her cheek. 

“... Your cheeks are hot, meaning that you may be blushing.” 

Aranea wanted to move her face away, but his touch felt too good. Ignis gently took her wrist next. 

“Ah, and there it is. Your heart rate is increasing. I dare say, you appear to find my touch… exhilarating.”

Aranea didn’t know how to respond; it was so forward of him. But not wrong—no, certainly not wrong. 

“You seem speechless, Aranea.”

Damn, she liked hearing him say her name. 

“Well, you’re giving me quite the analysis.”

Ignis took her hand and placed it on his chest. 

“Do you feel that?”

“Your heart?”

“Yes. Apparently, I find your touch exhilarating too.” 

A part of Aranea wanted to pull her hand away and run from the bar. She wanted to crawl into bed and forget that this ever happened. Pretend that she didn’t love the way Ignis smirked or how he just knew things. Push away the months of invasive thoughts about him that she had tried so hard to keep at bay. Why did she have to approach them in the bar tonight? Why did she pose that truth and lie? 

But she stayed there anyway, hand on his heart, feeling it beating beneath her palm. Faster and faster and faster. 

“I…” 

She had no idea what to say—a novel sensation for her. She kept her hand in place and tilted her head so that it rested on Ignis’ shoulder. She closed her eyes. 

Maybe it was the cheap liquor, but Aranea could suddenly see different futures unfolding in front of her eyes, one with Ignis and one without. 

Without him, she was strong and independent. She made her way through the darkness with a singular determination to both survive and help as many people as she could. Emotionally, she was even-keeled. She was absolutely fine on her own. 

With him, however, she was even better. She was a part of a team, someone to help her survive and help others. Someone to lift her out of darkness in those moments when it all became too much. She was still fine—but often, she was also happy. And scared, and warm, and angry, and safe, and exhilarated. In this dreary darkness, she was alive. 

Aranea raised her head off Ignis’ shoulder and moved her lips to his ear. 

“If this is so exhilarating, then what should we do about it?” she whispered. 

Ignis traced her fingers with his own. 

“Something tells me you already know,” he whispered back. 

A flash interrupted the moment, so strong that even Ignis seemed to sense it. Aranea turned to see Prompto grinning stupidly with his camera. 

“Sorry guys—had to! Noct will want to see this someday. Carry on!” 

He jetted back to the dartboard and Aranea turned to Ignis, feeling slightly sobered from the flash. 

“Do you want to go for a walk?” she asked, taking his hand. “Just a walk. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more,” Ignis echoed, but he knew better. 

They both knew better. 

He will kiss her, and she will kiss him back. They will stumble into a small room and make love in tangled sheets. He will find himself quickly falling in love with her, and she the same, though she will try to deny it as long as she could. Eventually, there will be no more denying. There would be no more lies. 

Just one truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I can't NOT write them playing drinking games. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are awesome! But even more awesome is if this made you happy :D 
> 
> If you're interested in HighSpecs Week, right this way: https://highspecsweek.tumblr.com/


	2. Rainy Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's better than kissing in the rain?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my attempt at some art for day two of HighSpecs Week, for the Rainy Days prompt.

 

 

She always thought that kissing in the rain was not only cheesy, but highly inconvenient. Being cold and soaking wet was hardly an appealing moment to passionately plant one on a lover. 

But there was a moment when she hadn’t seen him for far too long. The longing had grown, the nights had gotten longer, his absence all the more appreciated. When she finally saw him walking toward her in the downpour, she didn’t care. She ran and jumped on him, kissing him in the rain. 

Ignis had a way of bringing these moments out of Aranea Highwind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably stick to writing... XD


	3. She Tasted Like Possibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A picture says a thousand words...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a WIP for the "face sitting" HighSpecs Week prompt. I took it pretty literally XD 
> 
> A shaded version will be added later.

 

What did she taste like? She tasted like all the things he was missing and could now find again. She tasted like not all was lost. She tasted like possibility. 


	4. Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aranea takes care of a sick Ignis that she's trying very hard to stay platonic with—but he still knows how to get under her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the HighSpecs Week illness prompt.

This fits in my [The Far and Distant Light](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9309629/chapters/21098954) headcanon/universe. 

—

Aranea fidgeted with the hemline of her top as she waited. Prompto and Gladio were nearly ready to leave as they grabbed the last of their supplies. Prompto handed her a bag with the medicine and a few other useful items he had collected over the months—a towel to dampen for an overheated forehead, vapor rub, muscle relaxant.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” Prompto asked, a tone of seriousness in his voice that Aranea wasn’t used to. Apparently he took his caretaking duties very seriously.

“Yeah, you go with Gladio. I know Cor could really use your help on this mission,” Aranea replied.

“Thanks. We owe you one.” Prompto motioned to Gladio, who was checking on Ignis one last time in his bed. “Let’s go, big guy!”

“Coming!” Gladio smiled at Aranea as he passed by her. “Thanks again for looking after him.”

“Ain’t no thing,” Aranea smiled back.

Once the two were gone, she approached the bed Ignis lay on with some hesitance. This was the first time they have been truly alone since… well, since that night in the tent. It made her nervous, even if Ignis was out like a light, shivering and feverish.

“Ah, the man flu,” Aranea quipped. “The worst kind of flu.”

And a truly terrible one apparently, since Ignis was responding very hesitantly to his medicine. The doctor said more rest would suffice, but to expect a slow recovery. It was best that someone stayed with him at all times to ensure his condition remained stable.

When Aranea had run into Prompto on a food run, he was all too happy to ask her for this favor. Gladio was to join Cor on a mission, and Prompto looked like he needed to trade in nursing a man flu-ridden Ignis for daemon slaying for a day or two. Aranea didn’t know if agreeing was the smartest idea, but before she knew it, she had said she would come by that evening to stay with ignis for the night.

And here she was, unsure of what to do. Ignis lay on his bed, unseeing eyes closed and chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. He was shirtless and sweating a little. Aranea took out a small vial from the bag and read the instructions, even though Prompto had run through it with her several times. It was to be taken orally, and Prompto had asked that she administer it.

“Okay, Ignis. Time to open up,” Aranea said, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. He didn’t move. “Hey, Ignis, give me a hand here.”

Ignis groaned a little and blinked his left eye open—not that it helped much.

“Ara…?”

“Yep, it’s me, your new nurse.”

“Lucky me.”

His voice was but a whisper, and Aranea felt sorry for his weakness. Ignis was never loud, per se, but he was also never this defeated. Gotta hand it to that man flu—it sure knew how to bring a grown man down.

“Open your mouth,” Aranea said.

“For a kiss?”

Oh geez, he was loopy now too apparently.

“No, but nice try. Time for your medicine.”

“You’re the best medicine.”

“Ignis, please.”

“I’ll open my mouth only if it’s to meet yours.”

Aranea rolled her eyes.

“I know you’re feverish, but I thought we agreed to never bring that up again. It was a one-time thing. That’s it.”

“A night I’ll never forget…”

“Yeah, it was good. Now open up.”

“You heard the rules. Your lips first.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignis smirked in response, and Aranea knew she wasn’t winning this one. If he didn’t take his medicine, he could get worse. And if he did, what would she tell Prompto? Sorry I couldn’t get Ignis to open his mouth, cause I wouldn’t play his stupid game and just kiss him? Prompto would have no doubt kissed Ignis by now if he had to.

“Fine,” Aranea said. “But only cause I can’t be bothered to pry your mouth apart by hand. Afterwards, you take the medicine, okay?”

“Agreed.”

Aranea looked at Ignis’ lips and licked her own. They were beautifully shaped, she had to admit. Kissing them in the tent that night had been something kind of magical, and she was certainly not the kind of woman that described anything as such. But Ignis’ lips—well, they were something else.

She leaned down and pressed her own lips softly against them. Though he was weak, Ignis parted his own and weakly kissed her back, letting out a subtle and content sigh. Aranea surprised herself when she slipped a tongue in, Ignis meeting it with his own, moving in slow circles.

When she finally pulled back, she had to fight an urge to lean in again.

“Time for your medicine,” she whispered.

Ignis obediently opened his mouth this time, and Aranea emptied the vial. She discarded it and kicked her shoes off, making herself comfortable on the bed next to Ignis.

“Did you like that?” Ignis said.

“What, force-feeding you medicine?”

“The kiss.”

“Why?”

“You said we wouldn’t do that anymore. But I think you liked it.”

“I meant what I said, Ignis. What happened was a one-off—as was this kiss.”

“And I agreed. But the truth is, I want to kiss you. Again and again and again…”

Ignis’ voice trailed off, and Aranea wondered if he was sleeping. She looked over at him, studying his details like she did in the dim light of the tent that night. Perhaps it was his relaxed face, or the fact that he needed to be taken care of, but he looked so sweetly innocent. Like he was the type of man who just might, for once in her life, not hurt her.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ignis whispered again.

“What’s that?”

“You’re scared.”

“I am?”

“Yes. But don’t you see? I’m scared too…”

Aranea waited a while before she asked.

“Of what?”

“Of having you. And then losing you.”

“You’re just feverish,” Aranea said, though she knew it was true. Loss was a real thing in this world.

“Thank you for staying,” Ignis said.

“Of course.”

He seemed to drift off to sleep again when he started coughing. At first it was small, but it grew and intensified until Aranea had to sit up and roll Ignis onto his side to better breathe through the coughing, his back to her. She grabbed the bottle of water on the bedside table and offered it to him once his coughing calm down, and Ignis took a few pained swigs. Eventually he quieted back down, the coughing fit over.

Aranea watched his back as his breathing returned to normal, the lean muscles twitching on occasion. She noticed a few small freckles on his shoulder and she reached out to them. She traced her fingers over them. She remembered biting this very spot as she rode him that night, her muscles tensing and intensifying, and only his shoulder keeping her muffled so as not to attract the daemons outside of the campsite.

She was certain that Ignis was asleep now. His breathing had deepened and they were alone in bed, his back to her and no witnesses. No one to judge. Aranea shifted closer to him until her body was flush against his, all hot and sweaty. She wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer. Her lips pressed against the freckles on his shoulder, hesitantly at first. She trailed small kisses across his shoulder and to his neck, breathing in his scent. Even sick, there was a sweetness to him, and she breathed it in deeply as she nuzzled his hair, resting her head on a pillow.

Aranea stayed wrapped around Ignis all night, pretending for a moment that this was real and they didn’t live in a dark and frightening world. She knew that the next day, she would retreat back into her shell. Ignis would likely not recall any of this, being so wracked with fever. So she stole this moment for herself.

She drifted off to sleep as she breathed him in again and again.


	5. The Sweetest Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A period piece AU where Ignis and the guys are in an undercover jazz band, and Aranea longs to be a singer. Imagine 30s/40s big band meets WWII meets Eos. Ignis plays the saxophone. Aranea gets hot and bothered by it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for the "First Time" HighSpecs Week prompt. I decided to take the first time idea in a slightly unusual direction...

The Silver Gil was hazy with cigarette smoke, the scent mixing with expensive perfumes and cheap thrills. The dark walls were covered in ornate wallpaper, with dim lamps on the tables that dotted the venue highlighting its tonal brocade patterns. Signs were lit up as decoration, regaling patrons with encouragements like “Just Kiss Already” and “Make Tonight Count.” 

And that is exactly what Aranea was going to do. She wasn’t here for the jazz, after all. 

Well, not exactly. She was here to see the Royal Insomniacs, yes, but not for their renowned big band tunes. She was here for the people they would attract—namely, Gralea’s greatest music managers and producers. After all, it wasn’t every day in this time of war that a famous foreign band was invited to play at Gralea’s most exclusive speakeasy. 

The thing was, Aranea was dying to get on that stage. She had talent and she knew it. She could play a piano with such passion and intensity, throwing all of her often-hidden emotions into it, and her sultry voice was a treat to anyone that bothered to listen. It’s just that no one bothered. It was hard to get a break in Niflheim; there was simply too much competition. 

Aranea grabbed a drink at the bar—a double shot of whiskey, straight, for courage—and she settled at a small round table in a good spot. Not so close to the stage so as to seem desperate, but not so far that she’d be hidden in blackness. She wasn’t sure how she was going to mingle with the right people yet, but just being here was a good start. It hadn’t been easy finding out the password for the door either, but she had a few connections. 

The place was getting crowded, with the show slated to start soon. The seat across the table from Aranea was still empty, until a figure appeared. 

“Excuse me, but is anyone sitting here?” said a refined accent. 

Aranea looked up to find a tall and slim man standing there, his long white hair in a ponytail. She would have recognized that figure anywhere: Ravus Nox Fleuret, manager of the top musical acts in the country. Aranea’s breath hitched, but she pinched her thigh subtly, reminding herself to play it cool. 

“Yeah, go for it,” she drawled, taking a sip of her whiskey. 

“No date tonight?” Ravus said. 

“Nope. I’m just here for the Royal Insomniacs.”

“Ah, a fine choice. Where are my manners, my name is Ravus.”

He held out a hand. 

“I’m Aranea.” 

She took his hand and met his eyes. She knew what must be going through his mind—her sparkly, low-cut black dress and red lips were intended for a specific effect, and he was taking the bait. Good. 

“So, Aranea, what do you do when you’re not—”

Suddenly a loud drumming interrupted them and the lights dimmed, and they both looked at the stage to see a spotlight hit a skinny blonde warming up on the percussions. He grinned like a kid with a new toy, though he clearly knew his way around his instrument with speedy precision. 

Next, a bass line began to play and the spotlight focused on a tall man holding the upright bass and strumming with his fingers. He was dressed in a simple black button shirt, and his hair was tied back in a refined ponytail. 

The spotlight hit the grand piano next, with a black-haired young man playing in a way that made Aranea envious. He moved so elegantly across the keys, fingers feather-light yet creating such a beautifully intentional sound. 

But that was nothing compared to what came next. A soft single note started from the dark area left in the middle of the stage, rising slowly as the other instruments supported it. The spotlight began to glow, highlighting a tall and slim man with his saxophone, playing this single note that was so alluring in its simplicity and perfection. Then, as the light came to its full strength, the saxophonist sprang that single note to life into something complex and positively mind-blowing. His fingers moved deftly, his diaphragm contracting with each powerful breath. 

Aranea’s jaw dropped. She heard they were good, but this was something else. The band’s mastery left her in the dust, and she understood why she wasn’t the one on that stage. Instead, this foreign band had been allowed here, despite concerns over spies, because they were just that good. 

A couple of songs in, and Aranea had all but forgotten her prestigious tablemate. She was spellbound by every instrument and note from the band. But, more than anything, she was mesmerized by the saxophonist. He wore sunglasses even in the dark, but she didn’t need to see his eyes to feel the emotions with which he was playing. 

As they finished their latest song, the saxophonist took the mic for the first time. 

“Hello everyone, and thank you for coming out. We are the Royal Insomniacs, as you know.” 

There was a cheer from the crowd. 

“We’re going to take things in a slightly different direction,” he continued. “We’re going to play a new song, something a bit… slower.” 

The way he said that last word made Aranea sink into her chair a little. 

The drumbeat came in softly. The bass found a most sensual combination of notes. The piano played a very suggestive chord progression. And the saxophonist came in almost painfully slowly, teasing Aranea and practically leaving her begging for more, like a kiss that wouldn’t come. 

Aranea found herself focusing on the saxophonist’s lips as he blew into his instrument. It was a beautiful mouth, and the little bit of sweat in his Cupid’s bow made her lick her lips. She followed a trail of sweat from his temple, down his cheekbone, and over his strong jawline. She followed it over the muscles twitching on his neck, and watched it disappear under his shirt collar. He wore suspenders, and as he offered up more beautiful notes on his sax, Aranea imagined grabbing those suspenders and pulling him on top of her. 

She rubbed her thighs against each other and noticed she was throbbing. She felt wetness on her underwear. Her neck pulsed noticeably. 

The saxophonist found even more alluring notes, teasing and sensual and low. She felt it going straight into her deepest regions. She watched his slender fingers now, imagining licking them and then putting them between her legs. He would slide into her with ease, she was so wet. 

Aranea squirmed in her seat as subtly as possible. She moved closer under the table, hoping to shield her actions with it. Her dress had a long slit, and before she could think it through, her hand was sliding under. She found herself, drawing little circles on her wet panties with her finger. 

She kept watching the saxophonist as she touched herself and pretended that it was him doing this to her—and really, it was. He had a way of playing she had never seen before, and each note reverberated deep within her till her fingers were under her panties and slipping inside. 

It was almost like the saxophonist knew exactly what he was doing to her, knew the perfect pace she needed, cause he seemed to face her and play for her alone. He worked her up into a frenzy, and Aranea worked her finger furiously while trying to keep her arm as still as possible. Sweat dripped down her brow, but the saxophonist wouldn’t dare let up and give her a moment to catch her breath. He just played at her faster and harder, till she was almost there. 

And that’s when the music stopped. 

The drums ceased. The bass simmered out. The piano never existed. Just a single note of the saxophone echoed in the air as the musician took his lips away from the mouthpiece. It was a perfect torture. 

Aranea gave him a look, as if how dare he. How dare he stop now. Finish the song dammit, she thought. Fucking finish it. 

As if he could hear her begging, the saxophonist smiled at her, just a subtle smirk, but she got the message. He slowly placed his lips back on the mouthpiece and took a breath in, but waited. 

And waited. 

And then released the most perfectly explosive note as the other instruments joined in, and Aranea gasped as her finger sprang back to life and brought her to a shaking mess of an orgasm. A sound left her own mouth, a note perfectly harmonized with the saxophone, and heat washed over her. 

As the music faded out sweetly and softly, Aranea pulled her hand out from under her dress, absentmindedly grabbing a napkin from the table and wiping her fingers as she kept her eyes on the saxophonist. They were both panting in time, their gaze upon one another. 

“I hope you enjoyed that song,” the saxophonist said into the mic, never taking his eyes off her, and Aranea nodded to him in response. Something hung in the air a moment. 

“Onto our next number then,” he said, perking up and seemingly snapping out of whatever had just happened. “This one is a bit more upbeat.”

As the band continued, Aranea’s senses returned to her, and she couldn’t quite believe what she had done. She looked at Ravus, and he seemed oblivious. She looked around her shoulder, and no one else paid her any mind. 

She looked at the saxophonist again, brows furrowing. Who did he think he was? No one had ever made her come like this before. There was a first time for everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm almost tempted to keep writing this?


	6. Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aranea is perfectly fine spending a peaceful holiday by herself, until a certain Ignis Scientia shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally written for New Year's Eve, but I couldn't finish it on time and then life happened. But I suppose it's just as good for a Valentine's Day release, right? Better late than never?? 
> 
> Also, I have to give credit to LunarMagnolia for inspiring Aranea's rather unusual legs here. And thank you for all the fanning out over this pairing! 
> 
> Enjoy this bit of HighSpecs fluff <3

Aranea lit a candle. She wasn’t sure why, as she never lit candles for the Astrals growing up. Her New Year's Eves were non-existent, deemed as unessential celebrations by the Empire for their military subjects. 

Candles were also in short supply in Lestallum, but tonight she noticed more of them twinkling in windows, the refugees trying to conjure some semblance of normalcy. Wasteful fools, she thought, even as she watched her own candle glow. Snow had also fallen, and without a strong beaming sun in the day, it had stayed put—an admittedly magical effect. 

Aranea sat on her windowsill, the candle perched on a small table next to her. She watched the snowflakes gently descend in the dark, illuminated only by the faint and struggling glow of the city. 

The first New Year's Eve without light. It wouldn’t have made a difference to her, but it was also her first without the Empire. She allowed herself just a little bit of sentimentality at this newfound freedom. 

The small apartment Aranea managed to wrangle out of Cor was on the eastern part of the city, her window looking down into the narrow streets. She saw refugees walking, arms linked or hand-in-hand. She watched a pair of lovers pause and exchange a kiss, then continue on their way. She rolled her eyes, but kept sitting there, watching and absentmindedly running her hand over the smooth metallic surface of her kneecap. 

She didn’t know what to do with herself. Cor had given most of the hunters and Glaives the night off to celebrate New Year's Eve. Aranea had insisted on staying on duty, but Cor said she worked too much. Prompto invited her over to the hotel room he sporadically shared with Ignis, and Gladio—provided they were all in town—in the hopes that Ignis would show up and cook them all New Year's Eve dinner. It was their tradition, after all. 

Prompto looked so stupidly hopeful that he would have this little throwback to better times that Aranea swiftly declined. If everyone showed up, it would be far too sappy for her. And if no one came—well, she couldn’t stand the thought of watching the sad look on that boy’s face all evening. 

No, this was ideal. Alone at home, having a moment to herself. 

Aranea eyed the snowy alleyway below and caught sight of a lone dark figure as he slumped against a wall. She watched him reach into his coat pocket and pull out a pack of cigarettes. Trembling hands took out a slim white stick and lit it. He breathed in deeply and exhaled the smoke. 

Gods, she could use one of those right about now. 

As she watched the man, she noted how his silver-gloved hands looked familiar. She then noticed the thin black cane next to him. 

Ignis? 

This was the opposite side of town from the hotel. Curious now, Aranea stood and put on her boots and coat. She made her way down the stairs, quick and soundless, and walked out into the refreshing cold. She had always liked the feeling of cold—it made the metal of her legs feel all the more foreign, a reminder that she was more than nuts and bolts. She was human. 

Aranea approached Ignis and cleared her throat. 

“Wrong side of the tracks?” she said. 

Ignis shifted his head in her direction, taking another drag. 

“Aranea Highwind. What a surprise. Have you settled into this neighborhood?”

“Yeah, just right up there. And lo and behold, look who I catch sneaking around and having a smoke.”

“Just needing a moment.”

“Fair enough. Got an extra for a friend?”

“Of course. I picked it up in Galdin. Luckily, the abandoned shop’s stock had not been ransacked.” 

“Thanks.”

Aranea took the cigarette and Ignis flicked the lighter for her. 

“So you’re home for the holidays?” she said, taking a puff. 

“Home… I suppose Lestallum is home right now.”

“You’re down at Galdin Quay a whole lot too.”

“Just… keeping an _eye_ on things.” 

Ignis smirked at his own joke and Aranea couldn’t help but laugh too. 

“Yeah, well I bet Prompto can’t wait to see you.”

“I bet he can’t.”

“So why are you here then, sneaking a cigarette?” 

Ignis took a drag and exhaled slowly before he spoke. 

“It’s the first New Year's Eve… without him.” 

“Right.”

“I’m not exactly feeling festive.” 

Aranea nodded and leaned against the wall next to Ignis. They smoked in silence for a while. 

“And why are you alone?” Ignis asked. 

“Who said I was alone?” Aranea shot back. “I could be having a while party in my apartment upstairs.”

“If you are, it’s a very silent party indeed.”

“Maybe it’s a wild party of two.”

“Then I am quite surprised that you would opt to stand out here in the cold with me instead.”

“Maybe I just really needed a post-coital smoke.”

“Perhaps. But you seem a bit too tense to have just enjoyed such bliss.” 

“Wow, Ignis, way to sixth sense the shit out of me.” 

Ignis chuckled, then threw his cigarette stub into the snow. He made no effort to move. He seemed glued to the wall. 

“I’m spending New Year's Eve alone,” Aranea said. “If you want, you can come upstairs and spend it alone with me.”

“That… that would be good, actually.” 

“Great. Follow my lead.”

Aranea flicked her cigarette away and crunched through the snow, knowing that Ignis would follow the sound of her footsteps just fine. She didn’t warn him about the low doorframe either; he expertly felt for it so he could lean down and avoid bumping his head. He may have been blind, but he had grown accustomed to such intricacies of the city. 

Aranea’s room was small, and she gave Ignis a quick verbal tour—bathroom to the right, a bed straight ahead, and be careful not to knock over the candle to the left. She fished out a bottle of whiskey from her stash, a particularly nice brand she came across in an abandoned restaurant, and poured them each a glass. 

“Merry fucking New Year's Eve,” she said, clinking their glasses. 

“Merry fucking New Year's Eve,” Ignis echoed, taking a sip. “Good stuff.”

“Only the best for this girl.” 

Ignis made his way to the open window and perched on the windowsill while Aranea sat on her bed. 

“So, are you gonna talk about it?” she asked. 

“About what?”

“About why you’re here and not with your friends.”

“You seem awfully concerned.” 

“They need you, you know.”

“I know.”

“So?”

“Can’t I be selfish for a moment, Aranea? My entire life has always been about other people—and now, one particularly important person is missing. Can’t I take a moment to feel sad about it?”

“Yeah, but it’s not like you’re the only one who feels that way, you know. Gladio puts up a strong front, but I’m sure he could use a friend. And don’t even get me started on sunshine boy over there. He looks both painfully hopeful and heart-wrenchingly depressed.”

Ignis sighed and swirled his drink. 

“I will make my way over. Eventually,” he said. 

“That’s the holiday spirit.”

“If we’re analyzing one another, Aranea, then why don’t you tell me why you’re spending this New Year's Eve alone?”

“Cor wouldn’t put me on duty.”

“And the real reason?”

“The real reason. Ah. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Why is Aranea Highwind always keeping to herself? Why is she so helpful and yet so emotionally unavailable? That’s what you want to know, isn’t it?”

Ignis shrugged and the corner of his mouth curled into the slightest smile. 

“Fine. Listen to this.”

Aranea knocked on her kneecap with her fist a few times. 

“Metal?” Ignis asked. 

“Yeah. And not just any metal. Grade A Niflheim bionic metal, engineered for extreme power and durability. The subject it has been attached to will be able to perform impressive feats of jumping and strength. Ideal for someone training in the dragoon arts. Implementation is mandatory.” 

Ignis’s mouth opened in surprise. Of course her fighting had seemed enhanced, but he hadn’t expected this. 

“Both legs?” he asked. 

“From the mid-thigh down. It’s permanently attached—no coming off. Just steel and metal and nuts and bolts, and whatever other magic juice they put into it. They offered to put a rubber skin-type of thing over it, but I heard it was a lot of effort to keep it clean so I opted for the brutalist version instead.” 

“Fascinating.”

“Pfft, maybe for you. It wasn’t so fascinating living on an army base for my entire life, having my legs thrown into the trash while being subjected to experiments since I was a teenager.”

“I’m sorry to hear.”

“It is what it is. Doesn’t matter now. But to answer your question about why I’m all alone on New Year's Eve, I never really celebrated it. So why start now?”

“And yet you lit a candle.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t even know why I did that.”

“This might be presumptuous of me to ask, but… may I examine it?”

“My legs?” 

“Yes…” Ignis shook his head and took a drink. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. Forget I asked.”

Aranea looked at Ignis—really looked at him for the first time—and wondered. No one had ever wanted to touch her legs before. She had been with her share of men, and she usually insisted on keeping thigh-high boots or stockings on, hiding it the best she could under the guise of a kinky outfit. The few that had discovered it found it strange and unnerving. Should their hands have brushed against the metallic surface, they would quickly pull away, unable to hide a brief shiver. 

Men simply didn’t ask to examine her legs. 

“You can look at it. I don’t mind.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah, why not? Uh, let me pull my pants off, I guess.”

“Only if you are truly comfortable.”

“I’m good. Not like you’ll see my butt or anything.” 

Ignis finished his whiskey, and a strange tension settled in the room. Aranea’s heart beat faster, but she chalked it up to the unusualness of the request. She stood and pulled her leather trousers down, took her boots off, and sat back on the bed. She wore only her fitted black sweater and underwear, and even though she knew that Ignis couldn’t see her, she felt alarmingly exposed. 

Her legs were the color of gunmetal from the mid-thigh down, all parts flawlessly fused together. It was unfussy, powerful, efficient. 

Ignis lowered himself onto the floor in front of Aranea, and she noted the sensual nature of this action. His hands reached out for her to take, and she guided them to her legs. As Ignis’s fingertips grazed the metal, she let go in case he wanted to recoil. 

But he didn’t. Ignis placed his hands firmly on Aranea’s legs, running them up and down and building a picture in his mind. He felt the curve of her calves, felt the shape of her feet and toes, and moved back up to her thighs. Whoever made her legs gave a great deal of importance to anatomical perfection. 

Ignis’s hands went too far up to the metal’s edge, accidentally touching Aranea’s bare skin. She froze at the contact, half-expecting Ignis to apologize. Instead, he moved his hands back down her legs, continuing to silently explore. She craved the warmth of his fingertips on her skin again. 

“They are beautifully made,” Ignis said at last. 

“Only the best from the Nifs.”

“And yet I fear I have made you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just… not used to this.”

“To what?”

“To someone not getting freaked out by them.” 

“Why would they?”

“Freakishly powerful mechanical legs? It’s not exactly sexy.”

Ignis licked his lips. The tension in the room shifted to awkwardness, and he stood up and walked back to the open window. He let the cool air dry the bead of sweat he could feel running down his forehead, over his scarred eye. 

His scarred eye… Yes, he understood what she meant. 

“Are you okay?” Aranea asked. 

“It’s not easy having a constant reminder, is it?” 

“You get used to it.”

“And yet you seemed to tremble when I touched them.”

“Well, uh…” Aranea laughed nervously, then silently berated herself for doing so. She thought of his fingers accidentally touching her skin. 

“No one has touched my scars, save some doctors,” Ignis said. 

Aranea stood and joined Ignis by the window. Her bare legs shivered, but only to the point when her skin met the metal. 

“Want some practice? I can be the first,” she said. 

“You really don’t have to.”

“Don’t be stupid. Someone’s gonna have to take your scar-touching virginity away sooner or later.”

With that, she reached up and removed his shades, discarding it on the small table with the candle, and placed her fingers at his hairline. She started slowly, running her fingers down to his temple before curving around to his brow and meeting the first bit of scarring. 

Ignis closed his eyes at the contact, his muscles contorting and relaxing as he worked out how he felt about this. Her fingers felt gentle, but firm. Warm. 

She traced around his left eye, down across his cheek, and ended over his lips, touching the little scar there. 

“Romantic, isn’t it?” Aranea said dryly. 

Ignis smiled. “Feels like second base.” 

“Well, you’ve already got my pants off.” 

“Too bad I can’t get the full visual experience.” 

“Ha. We all look more or less the same under our clothes. You can use your imagination.” 

“I don’t believe you look the same for a second, Aranea. You are different in the best possible way.” 

Aranea pulled away and grabbed Ignis’s shades, putting them back on his face. She walked back to the bed and sat down, taking a drink. 

“Prompto is probably waiting for you,” she said. 

“I should probably go,” Ignis agreed. 

“Yeah.” 

“However…” 

Ignis hesitated by the window, unmoving. He then picked up his drink and downed it, then knelt in from of Aranea again. 

“One last feel, perhaps?” he said. “Perhaps.” 

He placed his hands back on her legs and ran them up the metal until he found her skin, but this time he didn’t retreat. He ran his hands further up to her hips, back down over to the metal, and up again. 

He was taking her in, both metal and flesh, and where the two met. Aranea held her breath, watching as Ignis touched her with such firm tenderness that she had to fight the desire to spread her legs wider. 

This was strange territory for them. She couldn’t deny that there has always been tension since the day they met, but now it escalated and threatened to give her ideas—ideas she wasn’t sure were very good to have these days. 

Ignis ran his hands further up her hips, then curved in to her navel and moved back down, trailing on her inner thighs. She let a sigh escape. As if the sigh had been a warning, Ignis removed his hands but stayed crouching in front of her. 

“I’m sorry…” he said. “I got carried away. I hope I didn’t overstep.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Aranea’s heart raced, and she wanted to scream at him to do something other than apologize. Anything else. 

Suddenly, the sound of a clock striking midnight rang through Lestallum. A thousand other clocks joined in, reverberating through the city. People screamed in celebration, then no doubt kissed in exhilaration because they were still alive. 

The sound filled Aranea’s room.

“It’s midnight,” she said. 

“It seems we’ve made it this far.”

“We certainly have.”

“May I kiss you?” 

Ignis looked so sincere, still kneeling in front of her legs—her shameful modification that he so willingly accepted. 

“Cause it’s midnight?” 

“Yes…”

She thought that, perhaps, he didn’t only want to kiss her because it was midnight. 

“Yeah, you can kiss me.”

Aranea placed a hand on his cheek to guide him to her. She closed her eyes as he leaned in to close the distance, his hands going back onto her legs. 

Ignis kissed her softly at first. It was tentative, feather-light, but as their lips lingered he found more confidence. As he pressed harder, Aranea slipped a tongue in, which Ignis met willingly. They tasted like whiskey and the faintest remnants of the cigarettes they had smoked. 

They remained like this long after the midnight bell stopped ringing, and their eventual parting was slow and tinged with resignation. 

“I should really go see Prompto,” Ignis said. 

“Yeah. That’s probably a good idea,” Aranea replied. 

“Aranea, I—”

“Don’t say anything.”

Don’t ruin this. Don’t make it into a bigger deal. Don’t unpack it. 

“Just go see Prompto,” she added. 

Ignis looked like he was trying hard to string a sentence together, but Aranea didn’t want to hear it. This had been perfect; there was no need—or room—for more. 

“I’m going to put my pants back on,” Aranea said as she rose to her feet. 

Ignis stood as well, and Aranea could see on his expression that he was getting the message. 

“I will be off then. But perhaps I shall see you around?” he said. 

“Sure thing,” she said, pausing. “Maybe we should have a drink again sometime.” 

“I would love to.” 

Ignis reached into his pocket for his packet of cigarettes. He took out a few and felt around for the small table, placing it there. 

“In case of an emergency,” he said. “But try not to make a habit of it, lest I feel responsible.”

“Thanks. And don’t worry, I’m a big girl.”

Aranea walked Ignis to the door and bid him a more cordial farewell. Once he was outside, she sat by her window again and watched him walk down the narrow street in the deep snow, moving carefully. She watched until he was out of sight and she was all alone again. 

She touched a hand to her leg and smiled to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, yet another fic with scar touching! I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself XD


End file.
